


Nothing Feels Quite the Same

by dandyzeni (chatnchew)



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Character Study, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Repression, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Stream of Consciousness, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000, Wordcount: Under 100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatnchew/pseuds/dandyzeni
Summary: And it eats at my mind, because you're the one that got away.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III & Zenigata Kouichi, Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	Nothing Feels Quite the Same

When Zenigata realized that he was in love with Lupin the Third, he cried.

The tears that came were not those of his usual exuberant, emotive moments. It was not a revelation that brought relief or even made him feel something as blunt and simple as anger. He felt exposed, _too_ raw, pulled into a state of shock and self-loathing, wrought into a form split far wide open. Separated from the familiar forge of his blinding hot fury, the room felt unbearably cold. Even the heat from his wife, pressed close against his back, could not permeate the frigidity that had befallen him.

Zenigata's sobs did not rouse her from her sleep. He was so quiet that he barely shook and made himself even stiller with the reactive hand he'd pressed tight against his mouth. His tears were sharp and would not stop rolling, down his cheeks, between his fingers, onto his pillow. 

In bitter retrospect this had been obvious. Ever since he'd set his sights on that man, in a neat little black and white photograph paperclipped inside a threadbare manila folder, he'd known that destiny had married their fates. All of his previous triumphs, his hard work, his self-molding, had been meant for this. Everything else... _Anything_ else was extraneous. 

It was in the inspector’s nature to be single-minded, yes, but there had been other far more fulfilling hallmarks of his life that captured his attention for a while. Hadn’t there? For a while, at least. But, as with everything else, they fell to the wayside— fat sheared off a lean cut of meat. Being promoted to the ICPO, starting a family, doing what he could to honor the name he had been born to carry… Trimmings for hounds, sitting heavy on livers.

His wife shifted and Zenigata felt his throat constrict. He closed his eyes and felt his tears ride him into unconsciousness. 

* * *

It was an uphill battle to make himself focus after that night. Entire conversations with his wife, with his _daughter_ , were lived through but rarely experienced. It was in quiet moments, at night again, that clarity visited him most often. And all he found he could do was stew in his regret.

Drawings dotted their small fridge, hung up by magnets, and in quiet moments alone Zenigata found himself staring at them. Among his daughter’s childish renderings were portraits of himself. He was always smiling, radiant and strong. The newest addition was one he vaguely remembered being presented. It was the three of them– a facsimile of what once was.

Work was dull. There had been no notice from Lupin for a while. Zenigata supposed he'd gone underground, having made another small fortune on his last heist and had enough to comfortably fund his lavish lifestyle for at least a couple months. All Zenigata did at work was stare at his cluttered desk, stare at his corkboard of thoughts, and drink strong bitter coffee. Soon, he had to tell himself.

Summer swept over the country before he knew it. With that first hot rain it arrived like a curse. The days were longer now, harder to shamble through without being challenged. Especially at home. 

“Dear,” his wife began. Her voice was soft, parched between sips of now lukewarm tea. They were sitting about the television, eating dinner together. It was quiet despite the soft chitter of the host on the flickering black-and-white screen and the drone of _min-min zemi_ just outside. The windows were open to allow a cool breeze through, and every now and then a mosquito was waved away from sweat-damp skin. Zenigata was in one of his lucid moments (sweat made his cotton tank stick to his skin; a grain of rice was lost somewhere among his molars; he was _there_ ). He stilled his chopsticks and turned to her.

The look on her face… Zenigata felt his throat constrict, the back of his tongue suddenly going bitter. Her knit brow, her wet eyes, her resolute eye contact all bored through him. The silence was necessary. Neither of them, he knew, could have a verbal conversation with his daughter sitting idly beside them. 

Zenigata had always wondered why she’d married him. She was beautiful, for one. Her face, contorted now, was full and soft. Those eyes murmuring to him were so bright and so keen. She was not a slip of a woman, which he liked. She’d had a rare but promising career as an officer before he’d proposed. Now her trained sinewed hands tended to _oekakiben_ and laundered sheets and the sponge lying half-dry in the kitchen sink. He liked to think that he loved her at one point. Being held by those beautiful eyes had him unsure now.

If he had to ask, he knew the answer was one she didn't deserve. After what felt like forever, Zenigata nodded his heavy head, lifted another clump of rice into his mouth, and chewed slowly. The girl and the woman flanking him on either side, nibbling delicately on pickled ginger and marinated tofu, were gone. Laughter erupted on the television in front of them.

The papers were served and he signed them without struggle. Not even his wife and daughter slipping away and out of his life could bring him out his aimless drifting. He had been untethered from his life without the thief. _His_ thief. He could not muster the passion, the desire to be involved in their lives, the way he could for him. It made him a failure of a man. A failure as a descendant of Heiji. 

It was all Lupin's fault. Was it destiny, too, making him so boundless? 

* * *

Eventually, ICPO received a notice. Just like the turn of seasons, Lupin resurfaced. 

He was planning to steal a bevy of Burgundian treasures (Zenigata didn't really know what they were. They were precious, Lupin wanted them, that's all he gave a rat's ass about). Usually the first thing Zenigata did was call up the targets in question, in this case an assembly of French curators, but all he could do was sit at his desk and stare down at the cardstock in his hands. 

Could he bear to look at Lupin's face again? The sight of his penmanship alone was almost bringing him to convulse. The calling card was tossed among the mess and he reclined into the beaten leather of his seat. His men stared at him in quiet disbelief. 

"I– Inspector, should... Should someone notify the curators?" Zenigata dragged his hands down his face before standing wordlessly.

“I will,” he answered gruffly. He waved about a hand in a weak attempt to dismiss their worries and their ranks. A growl rose out of him when their disbelief still hung in the air. “I said _I will._ We’ll form a plan for the security detail immediately after.” The men nodded half-heartedly before leaving him be. 

Once they were out of sight, Zenigata pressed his hands into his face and groaned. This should be the light in the darkness, the blade of hope slicing clean through his gristly despair. But all he could feel was sick. He loved Lupin, but the idea of facing off with him again brought him no ease. 

He was far from being in top form. This would surely end in his defeat— and not even one with some sort of schadenfreude he could try to enjoy, with the treasures being safe despite Lupin escaping his grasp. His mind always danced around this inevitability, but today it confronted it head on. 

All he could hope for was that it was enough to rekindle the fire in his heart so that their chase could begin anew. It was all he had now. 

* * *

They waited for him in the dark. Hidden among the aisles and displays, ready to leap upon a springy form and slap on a pair of handcuffs. Ambush was the best approach, Zenigata decided. He couldn’t bear to face Lupin head on. 

Across the silence the museum alarm rang out. Zenigata would have called it sloppy if he didn’t know damn well Lupin loved theatrics. That, and it was likely a distraction. They wouldn’t find a panicked thief sticking his hand under glass if they ran after it, but rather a smartass decoy left to taunt them. 

Zenigata turned to the troop of men adjacent, brandishing his pistol from his chest-binding hostler. “Secure the exits and radio the men at the skylight! Don’t let them escape!” He motioned sharply with his gun and the sound of boots against marble accompanied their scatter. Zenigata himself headed for the back entrance - an obvious route of escape (and the one closest to the highway, where blending into traffic would be as smooth), but one that benefited the play that Lupin was unfolding, their endless game of cat and mouse. Zenigata would _see_ him. 

It was unnervingly quiet outside. On any other night, with any other company, it would have been peaceful. Walking, or in this case now running, under the stretch of deep blue and twinkling stars… It was nice. Almost enough to remind him of his love of the chase. Of…

“Hey, Pops!” Zenigata glanced up erratically, eyes narrowing to force adjustment to the darkness. Up above, riding high on a pedal-powered glider, was Lupin and his ever-present shadow Daisuke Jigen. A briefcase full of valuables by their side. Lupin winked, clear even from a distance, down at the inspector. 

Zenigata lifted his gun and fired. He managed a near miss, but they were too far up for him to get a clear shot without a scope. He emptied the clip anyway, to drown out the cattish sound of Lupin’s giddy laughter. The gun clattered to the ground below when he tossed it afterward. 

A sharp breath in. He stared down at the black tar beneath his feet, not even finding it in him to scream at Lupin in his typical fashion. He managed to lift his head up and stare off at him one last time before he was too far for either of them to clearly make out one another’s faces. 

Whatever look was scrawled across Zenigata’s face gave Lupin pause. How was he looking at him, he wondered? All he could feel was exhaustion. There was confusion slowly working itself across Lupin’s face, dwarfing his smile. Confusion and… Something else he had never seen him give off. Something Zenigata couldn’t put a name to. 

And then he was gone. They informed ICPO of their latest failure and then called it a night. For the first time in a while, Zenigata went home. 

* * *

His apartment always gained a new layer of dust by the time he got back to it. It was neat, at least, if only because he was rarely there. Unpacked boxes were piled up in easily conquerable corners: _For when I get back, for when I catch Lupin._

Zenigata looked over the mess as he scratched at the back of his head, wondering if he should just forgo that deadline and start making a dent in them now, when he heard the old sill of the kitchen window slip shut. He drew in a deep breath and held it. Someone was there with him in the veiled darkness. He flipped the light switch and instinctively drew his gun. 

“ _Wo-ah_ , Pops! Put that thing away, somebody could get hurt!”

Of course it was Lupin. _Of course_ it was him. Smiling all self-assured, raising his hands in false deference. Zenigata sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth… And reluctantly put the gun away. 

“Did you come here to humiliate me further? Is that it?” He turned away from him, face now in his hands. Lupin didn’t continue until he heard the inspector groan, a sign that he hadn’t been reduced to tears. 

“No, _c’mon_ , Pops, I’m not the type to rub your face in the same mess twice. I—” 

“Then why are you here?” Lupin’s smile tightened. 

“I was gonna get to that.” He scratched behind one of his big ears. “I came here because, _well…_ ” There was a long stretch of silence, and for the first time it occurred to Zenigata that Lupin had areas he lacked confidence in. It was a lengthy enough pause to where he could have poured himself a drink, if he’d remembered whether or not he had alcohol lying around somewhere. 

Zenigata finally turned back around and, etched on Lupin's face, he saw an echo of the look from earlier that evening.

“I was worried about you,” he finished, slipping his hands into his pockets. “It’s been a while and… I don’t know, you seemed out of it tonight.” 

It was at that Zenigata finally felt his rage hit its fever point, his face splitting into a menacing scowl. “I _am_ out of it. Because of you. Because of what you _did_ to me.” The surprise lighting up across Lupin’s face only served to incense him further. 

“You’re so cruel that you don’t even think about how your actions affect others, do you? This isn’t just some kind of a _game_ , Lupin, this is– you’re my life’s work. Have you stopped to think for even a second what that might mean for me?” One mercy was Lupin’s silence, holding whatever retorts he may have had under that wagging tongue. He watched as the thief contemplated that idea for a moment. Realization pooled across his face like ink rippling across water-stained paper. 

Zenigata scoffed. “You did this because it’s in your nature as a thief. Isn’t it?” He balled up a fist so tight it printed half-moons into his palm but, at a loss, let the hand fall limp at his side. “...Of course you’d steal my life from me. Of course you would! You just couldn’t stop until you took _everything_.”

Neither of them spoke or moved for an eon. Dust motes floated through the air between them as a breeze filtered through the unattended kitchen window and into the tiny apartment. Lupin let out a small breath, dotted his gaze around the neglected interior, before finally making eye contact with Zenigata again. 

“... Everything?”

The inspector’s shoulders slumped and his grandiose energy dissipated, wafting away as steam through frigid air. A broad hand slipped over his chest and patted it gently. He was hollow, emotionless, quiet when he answered. 

“Everything.”

Lupin paused again, clearly thinking. The longer and longer he took the time to mull over his actions, the fact that Zenigata was a _human being_ , that he had obligations outside of him, the more he felt the flames of his anger being reignited. This was the man he was in love with? A careless thief? 

“Pops, I–”

Zenigata’s lips pulled up into a snarl. “Get out.”

“Pops–” 

“I said **_GET OUT!_ ** I’m tired of looking your goddamn face–” 

“ _Koichi_.” 

Zenigata stopped in his tirade right then and there. The space between them expanded, thrumming with energy. The calm, stern deliverance of his name was a live current crackling through the air. He evaded being shocked, however, and stared at Lupin with wide eyes. 

He didn’t think the thief even knew his first name. He _always_ called him Pops, Zenigata, his title... But now it was clear that the current of investment flowed both ways, that their rivalry was not one-sided. He cared enough to know. 

Tentatively, Lupin crossed the valley between them. Zenigata could barely feel his legs, let alone any discomfort that may have come with Lupin’s approach. 

He didn’t realize he had been crying until the thief touched him. 

“Koichi,” he murmured as he looked the inspector over. Genuine worry was hidden in the faint creases of his expression. Slender thumbs brushed across damp cheeks. “I– I only steal from people who can take it, y’know? I wouldn’t have… I thought you could take it.”

 _I’m sorry_. Lupin could be aloof and callous and distant, but he wasn’t _evil_. Beneath everything, he still had a heart. Zenigata choked down a sob. 

“Lupin–”

“Shh. You don’t have to say anything–” 

“I love you.” 

Lupin blinked rapidly, his hand going stiff, Then he closed his eyes and let out a soft, staggered exhale. His next words were almost inaudible. 

“... I _knew_ you cared.” The relief they carried tightened Zenigata’s throat, but not with anguish. He was lightheaded– borderline delirious. _I_ knew _you cared._

Zenigata, with all his bulk, sidestepped the last of his reservations to pull Lupin close. The thief went stiff on instinct. But, after a moment to adjust, the detective felt him relax. Zenigata dug his fingers into Lupin’s cropped black hair and the fabric of his blazer, buried his nose into his shoulder and felt his mind go blurry at the scent of his cologne. 

Awash with shame and regret and love, he let himself unravel and felt alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [Harvey](https://fruithead.tumblr.com) and [Marc](https://marc--chilton.tumblr.com) for beta reading this for me!
> 
> The title and summary are from the song ["Unrequited Love" by Thundercat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRo_FFrliAs).


End file.
